“Perhaps that’s why He doesn’t love me.”
She did not answer, but for a moment a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth.
“You good people are so very difficult to help,” she went on; “you’re always so utterly other-worldish that when you’ve got to worry out some worldly trouble you don’t know what on earth to do, and that being the case—pray for help, instead of for strength to help yourself. What to do? It seems to me your way is plain: go back to your work; work hard; work yourself sick if you like, and instead of praying so much for yourself, pray more for her.”
He turned away from her, and looked out at the gray rain. She had spoken almost sharply, but the soft tenderness in her eyes as she looked pityingly at him betrayed that the sharpness lay only in the expression of the comfort she had offered him.
“I feel that you are right,” he said, going back to her and holding out his hands, into which she gave hers; “thank you. I’ll try.”
CHAPTER XVIII
These days were almost unalloyed joy to Maddison, and full of pleasure to Marian, only checkered by the difficulty which she saw before her of persuading him to allow her to return to town while he remained where he was. The fear of Squire molesting them was now, she felt, an insufficient excuse for their separation, not sufficient, at any rate, to compel Maddison to forego his decision that he would not be parted from her again. At any rate this motive alone was not strong enough, and she searched in vain for some further argument to support it. Determined she was to free herself partially from him, but she did not wish to break entirely with him yet; indeed, he was essential to her still. She would not run any risk she could avoid or foresee, but equally she would not leave any effort untried to obtain her own way.
“The Rebel” was quickly completed, and he had no other work on hand. Mrs. West had learned from her husband who this friend was, and therefore accepted the excuse. But West himself came over one afternoon in the motor car, and was told by Marian, who came to the door, that Maddison had walked into Brighton, and that she was alone, nursing a headache.
“I’m awfully sorry,” West said, thinking how extraordinarily pretty she looked against the dark shadow behind her. “If it’s not a real bad one, come for a spin in the car: the air will blow it out of you in no time.”